


Mandalore: Trials of War

by Amira_Roselle



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Bounty Hunters, Civil War, Comfort/Angst, Developing Relationship, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mandalore, Obitine, Political tensions, References to the Jedi Council
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-10-12 09:07:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10487247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amira_Roselle/pseuds/Amira_Roselle
Summary: “You lost your head back there,” Padawan Kenobi spoke up, drifting next to her. “But I’m assuming I was only partly to blame.”Satine shut her eyes, wishing he would leave. She didn’t need any more Jedi lectures from him. “Didn’t you hear what he accused me of?”“I did.”“And you wholeheartedly agree, no doubt,” she seethed.He fell silent for a moment. “Not entirely.”Satine blew out a huff of air.“Don’t misunderstand me. Sometimes it requires more strength to know when to lay down your arms than to take them up and charge into battle foolishly.”She found herself smiling despite her sour attitude earlier. It was almost comical how easily they’d dropped the formalities. “Is that another saying from your Jedi Code?”“Just my own,” he grinned.Mandalore once more finds itself crumbling into civil war. But in the midst of the death, destruction, and lies . . . grows the complex friendship of a Duchess and a Jedi.





	1. Enter the Capital

Their ship dropped from hyperspace, revealing an inhospitable-looking desert planet looming before them. Records held that centuries of war had ravaged the landscape until it became what it was now—a bleak ball of sand.

_Charming,_ Obi-Wan thought.

He glanced over his shoulder at his Master. “You’re certain we’ll be _welcome_ on Mandalore . . .”

Qui-Gon looked up. “More or less.”

“History would say otherwise.”

His Master smiled. “Right now Mandalore is too preoccupied fighting itself to fight us.”

That didn’t exactly encourage him to steer the ship down toward the barren surface, but he did so despite his nagging concerns.

Descending through the atmosphere, their scanners alerted them to what they’d come looking for: the domed metropolis Sundari. But as the tattered, war-scarred metal shell came into view, Obi-Wan’s nagging concerns morphed into plain dread.

What had the Council been thinking?

He quickly banished the thought. They knew perfectly well what they were doing. He wasn’t about to question their decisions when Master Qui-Gon did enough of that for the both of them.

Sighing, Obi-Wan chided himself to save his unease for when an actual tribe of war-crazed barbarians came rushing out to slay them and went back to guiding the ship.

They docked at the outer port where a pair of curiously dressed guards stood on the landing pad waiting for them. Obi-Wan was almost certain one of the two had bared his teeth when they approached.

“Master Jedi, I welcome you to Sundari, capital of New Mandalore,” the other greeted. “We will be your escorts to the palace.”

Exchanging a look, Master and Padawan followed the guards to their speeder, which, unlike the ones Obi-Wan was accustomed to, the Mandalorians rode standing.

They flew through the war-torn city in silence. The buildings—the ones that were intact, anyway—looked to be constructed mostly of glass, all in a colorful array of amber, red, and blue, and a majority were in the shape of cubes. It was clear that they had seen some harsh battles recently, and would see even more in the weeks to come.

War. It was in Mandalore’s history—its culture—its blood. The way Obi-Wan saw it, they couldn’t live without war anymore than the Jedi could live without a Code.

So naturally, when stories of a New Mandalore built on peace began to spread through the galaxy, he like many others thought it to be a joke.

The Mandalorians of old did not.

Once the new regime—which composed simply of a ruling Duchess over the entire system—began to take form in place of the chaotic web of houses and clans that had previously held power, the conservative resistance clashed with the idealists, intent on preserving their ancestors’ lineage and honor through the glories of war.

And that, Obi-Wan gathered, was why he and his Master had been commissioned here by the Council. To protect the new Duchess from those who sought her downfall, yes, but more importantly, to ensure that the new Mandalore of peace would become a permanent reality.

While the Jedi had won their war with Mandalore all those centuries ago, it hardly meant they wanted to wage another. So this civil war needed a proper victor. And keeping the Duchess alive would fuel the New Mandalorians to be just that.

If all went as expected.

Obi-Wan returned his gaze to their escorts. They stood unmoving with their backs to him and his Master, arms crossed behind them. Their largely built frames didn’t really give one much thought for pacifism.

No sooner had the observation entered his mind when a colored bolt slammed into a guard’s shoulder, sending him careening over the rail.

Obi-Wan tore himself out of shock, lightsaber blazing to life as he whirled to bat an incoming volley back at their attackers. Master Qui-Gon joined him, shielding the left flank of the speeder where their remaining escort stood.

To improve matters, the Mandalorian decided that now would be the best time to take evasive action, executing a sharp swerve which hurled Obi-Wan off his feet. Yelping heroically, he snagged hold of the railing with assistance from the Force, but still crashed painfully into the outer hull, nearly losing his grip.

Qui-Gon had to hold his own now, protecting the guard from the same fate that met his comrade.

_“Obi-Wan!”_ His Master shouted as two other speeders joined the chase.

“Preoccupied!” He called back, trying to clamber up the side while reversing several more blasts directed his way.

_Focus!_

With a firm kick against the hull, he swung himself up and over, landing beside Qui-Gon with his lightsaber swinging at full speed. The air soon filled with the sounds of sizzling energy and flashes of light as their armored enemies bore down on them.

So this was the Mandalore he had heard so much about—the Mandalore he’d been expecting right from the start.

And what’s more . . . the Mandalore that the Council wanted very badly to extinguish.


	2. Duchess of Mandalore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is a nod to _Star Wars: The Clone Wars_.

“Another group of Traditionalists has infiltrated Sundari. Not so many that our Protectors can’t fend them off, but it won’t be long before they launch another strategized attack in greater numbers. The city is in peril, Duchess . . . we _must_ prepare for a counterassault.”

The rush of information almost blew past her. News of the ever-growing civil war reached her ears every day, and all the details that her advisors packed into their briefings had begun to blur together.

Satine knew their concerns. The capital had withstood several large attacks in the past few months alone (and with it several attempts on her life). Another might just bring the city tumbling to the ground. And what would happen if they lost Sundari? Granted, they still had many other cities under New Mandalorian control, but should the very capital fall to the enemy . . . it would succeed in crushing the spirits of her followers far more than their bodies.

Yet she’d refused to send large formations of troops in retaliation against the notorious Traditionalists. Her forces served to protect her cities from the invaders, not lead her citizens into battle. And although lives _had_ been lost from her tactics, it couldn’t compare to the overwhelming amount that would result from full-scale war.

Satine stood to silence the frantic chatter of voices, her gaze sweeping around the room to address everyone present. “My orders stand firm, counselors. We will reinforce our defenses in preparation for the coming attacks, but prioritizing warfare is out of the question.”

The advisors erupted in another bout of incredulous cries for reconsideration.

“Duchess, we’ll be overrun!”

“They’ll level the capital!”

“We must drive those demons into the desert!”

She threw her hands into the air, eyes stormy. “You speak like barbaric fools trying to bring _true_ destruction upon yourselves! Have you really forgotten so soon? Suffering is the one thing war has _always_ brought to this world . . . as well as countless others.”

Their shouts died down to nothing and several counselors lowered their heads in shame. Far too many had experienced that type of loss firsthand.

Just as she had.

Satine drew out an exhale. “Send word to the Protectors that they have permission to increase defenses around the perimeter. For now, you are dismissed.”

The group bowed and exited the room in silence, the fervor they’d displayed moments ago virtually gone. Watching them leave, she felt a bit of remorse for having to reprimand them so harshly. But she truly believed— _had_ to believe—that there would come a day when Mandalorians would regard war as a last resort. And if she had to drill that into them endlessly for it to come about . . . she wouldn’t hesitate in doing so.

Satine descended the steps from her throne, straying to one of the large colored windows that looked out over the city. Clasping her hands together, she tried to gaze past the damages from the previous attacks and instead focus on the buildings in progress—the buildings which symbolized New Mandalore’s slowly yet surely advancing growth.

_We’ll rise quicker than ever. I know it._

But it ended with a sour feeling of hypocrisy in her stomach. As if she were ignoring defeat for the sake of elevating any sense of victory, no matter how small. And _that_ was precisely how the wars of the past continued to rage as they did.

“Great Duchess,” called a cynical voice she was all too familiar with. “Your new entourage has arrived.”

_Of all the people . . ._

Berating herself to remain calm, Satine turned, taking in the sight of two cloaked men flanked by Prime Minister Saxon and his group of Protectors as they marched into the throne room.

“ _My_ entourage . . .” she responded coolly. “Or yours?”

Kahl Saxon only smiled. “Come now, Duchess. You know that your safety is my first priority.”

She could have scoffed in his face. Instead, she strolled forward to address the bowing visitors. Satine knew much about these ‘peacekeepers’. She’d seen one or two in her younger years when traveling to the Core worlds for her studies on diplomacy and politics. But as a Mandalorian, it was practically a sworn requirement to learn about them in school. How to kill them more than anything, of course. The history archives revealed that they’d defeated Mandalore in one of its most devastating wars long ago. Naturally, it didn’t sit well with her people, and neither did it sit well with her. Though for less vengeful reasons.

Saxon continued. “Both were caught in the latest attack but managed to make it safely to the palace as the enemy retreated. I think you’ll find them very dependable guards, highness.”

She bit back another sarcastic remark. The men standing before her could hardly be classified as simple _guards_.

“Rise, Master Jedi,” Satine finally commanded, hiding her displeasure. “I must apologize for your harsh arrival.”

They straightened and removed their hoods, allowing her to take better stock of their appearance. The older, taller man looked to be the more experienced of the two, but the younger one—who sported short hair and a braid that she knew to be the sign of an apprentice—seemed more quiet and reserved. He couldn’t be much older than she was, in fact.

“Thank you, Duchess,” the Master smiled. “It is an honor to be in your service.”

Saxon stepped forward. “If I may, highness—”

“You may not,” she snapped. “You and your Protectors are excused. I wish to be alone with my ‘dependable guards’.”

Shutting his mouth but clearly unhappy to do so, Saxon turned his burning gaze to the door, gesturing for the guards to follow him out.

Satine waited until the doors hissed shut before speaking. “You’ll have to forgive any show of irritation on my part. Today has not been pleasant.”

The taller man fixed her with a knowing expression, one that could have peered right through her. “Is that the only thing troubling you, highness?”

She felt an exposed chill at how easily he could read her. Of course . . . the Jedi and their Force connection were something she could never prepare for or become accustomed to. That much she was willing to admit.

“Quite perceptive,” her gaze turned cold as she ascended the steps to her throne. “No, as a matter of fact. Your presence here is not welcome—most of all by me.”

The Master seemed surprised, but his apprentice shot him a look of silent agitation, as if he’d suspected all along what her reaction would be.

_Intriguing . . ._

“May I ask why?” The Jedi prodded.

Satine rested her hands on the smooth arms of the seat of power, taking comfort in the fact that it represented a foundation where she could hide her still-present insecurities behind. “After the attempts on my life, my counselors concluded that I need special outside . . . _protection_. I refused it. Mandalore’s problems are internal. They must be fixed internally.”

“I don’t follow, Duchess,” the Master frowned. “Are you suggesting that—”

“Prime Minister Saxon sent for you against my judgement, as he has done so on many _other_ matters,” Satine went on, her words scathing. “As you may well have guessed, I don’t hold him in any high regard. My suspicions are that he has plans to overthrow me.”

The Knight’s eyebrows rocketed up on his forehead, but the apprentice spoke next. “We aren’t servants of your Saxon, Duchess. We serve only the High Council.” He gave his Master another look that seemed to say _Most of the time_. “And our orders are to protect you. Nothing more.”

Satine found herself distracted by his crisp voice before the words formed meaning in her mind. She frowned, bringing the issue back into focus. The two Jedi felt sincere enough, but so had Saxon when he first took on his role as Prime Minister. And from what she already knew about these ‘peacekeepers’ . . . they were full of contradictions. She’d have to be careful.

“We shall see, Master Jedi,” Satine nodded. “In any case, I thank you for your concerns. While I still believe it unnecessary, you have your duties, and I have mine. Let’s try to keep them separate.”

“Of course, highness,” the older man bowed once more, his student following suit.

Her suspicions aside, she found their mannerisms strangely pleasing. “Come to think of it . . . I don’t believe I know the names of my new escorts.”

They rose, the taller one offering his first. “I am Master Qui-Gon Jinn. This is my Padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

The apprentice gave her a curt nod and smile—quite a nice smile, really. Her gaze lingered on him before returning to his Master.

“I’m sure you’ll want rooms not far from my own,” she stood to press the caller on her wrist. “I’ll arrange it.”

Two guards entered from a side chamber, leading the Jedi out of the throne room. Satine watched them go, soon feeling the weight of her responsibilities begin to press down on her.

What would her citizens think when the news spread that _Jedi_ were assisting her of all people? Most would not take it lightly. And she had no doubt Saxon would be the first to tell the tale. It felt as if she were walking knowingly into one of his traps.

_So why am I allowing it?_

Sinking into the seat of the throne, Satine buried her face in her hands.

* * *

“Well, my Padawan,” Qui-Gon began. “What do you think of our Duchess Satine?”

The question caught him off-guard and he almost stumbled as they walked through the magnificent halls of the palace. His Master had always held that ability, even in Obi-Wan’s most self-assured moments.

“She is . . .” he trailed off as he thought back to when he’d first taken in her appearance. Golden hair styled exquisitely, framed by a headband with a glowing stone at its center. And garments all in different shades of blue that flowed around her in a pure sign of royalty. Beautiful without question. But all he managed to come out with was, “Younger than I thought she’d be.”

Qui-Gon laughed. “The Code doesn’t forbid us to acknowledge beauty, my student. But yes, she is young. Yet I sense she’s experienced more than her share of pain and struggles. That’s the true sign of age.”

Obi-Wan had sensed it, too. Her blue eyes were hard as ice when she spoke, but they hid a fire behind them. One full of emotion and turmoil that made him uneasy.

_There is no passion, there is serenity._

“She’s unbalanced and mistrustful,” he continued. “Should we be wary of that?”

“No, not immediately,” his Master shook his head. “I think she’ll find her path to peace very soon. Just as Mandalore will.”

His far-too-sure tone drew an exhale from him. The way it always did whenever Master Qui-Gon defied direct orders from the Jedi Council.

 _It is the will of the Force,_ he would say, much to Obi-Wan’s discontent.

The Force didn’t have two wills—only one. And who knew it better than the Council members themselves? He simply couldn’t understand why his Master would ever want—

“Your rooms, Master Jedi,” their guards announced, gesturing to the right.

Obi-Wan stopped. Down the hall lay a larger set of doors, with quite a few Protectors standing outside. He could only assume they led to Duchess Satine’s quarters.

“Take a moment to meditate,” Master Qui-Gon suggested, stepping into his room. “We’ll meet back here in an hour.”

Nodding, Obi-Wan retreated into his own space, locking the panel behind him. He ignored the large bed and exquisite furniture, choosing instead to sit on a tapestry in the middle of the floor. And as soon as his eyes closed the calm of the Force took him.

For the time being, he set aside his frustrations with his Master and focused on the young Duchess and her conflicted state. What could be the source of it? Yes, she was trying to bring peace to a world of war, but he knew there was something more . . . personal. At that thought, he balked. The Jedi didn’t concern themselves with the personal. They strayed away from attachments—anything that would anchor them too close. While Master Qui-Gon may have had issues with that, he himself did not.

Obi-Wan tensed. Again, he found his senses rushing back to their last mission. The heat of a battle that had exploded out of nowhere. And then his Master, shouting at him to—

 _No,_ he winced. _There is no emotion, there is peace._

But with his meditation already broken, he dragged himself off his feet and toward one of the large windows, staring out at the city. The Duchess’s enemies were clearly getting bolder judging by the carbon scored buildings that lay ever closer to the palace. No one could deny that Sundari wouldn’t be safe for very long. And yet he was almost certain that the woman they’d been ordered to protect would refuse the greatest act of protection possible: leaving the capital.

Suspicious _and_ stubborn. Those were her most apparent traits so far. That and her thinly veiled accusations of them being in league with the Prime Minister had been nothing short of outrageous. He’d kept a level head at the time, but it wouldn’t always be the case if her spats continued.

Finally shaking himself of his thoughts, he slipped out into the hall to have a look around. Master Qui-Gon was still in his room, deep in meditation, but Obi-Wan would be back in time to meet him.

He drifted through the corridors alone, listening as Mandalorians snapped at each other behind doors in their harsh tongue. Or perhaps they weren’t actually snapping—perhaps the very sound of their language was aggressive. It certainly wouldn’t surprise him if that were so.

The hallway led to a balcony which looked over a small park left untouched by the attacks. The silence of Sundari felt deafening. He found it odd that the city was so quiet at this or any other hour. Surely the Mandalorians weren’t all huddling indoors for fear of another assault? That didn’t seem very . . . well . . . _Mandalorian_ to him. Then again, New Mandalore itself wasn’t very Mandalorian, either.

After a few moments in the stillness, he sensed footsteps coming up behind him.

“Padawan Kenobi,” Prime Minister Saxon greeted. “Enjoying the view while it lasts?”

He faced him. “How do you mean?”

“Oh, you know,” Saxon stepped forward, hands curling on the railing, eyes on the ground below. “This will all be smashed to rubble in a matter of days thanks to our benevolent ruler.”

Obi-Wan paused. So this sardonic relationship between the Duchess and the Prime Minister was mutual, then. “You disagree with her ways of emphasizing peace?”

Saxon snorted. “The endless speeches on coexistence and whatnot are charming, really, but pathetically naïve. No one in his or her right mind could possibly believe Mandalore capable of such a fantasy without first crushing all those in opposition.”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “That sounds more in line with the views of a Traditionalist than a Prime Minister of New Mandalore.”

“That,” he shrugged, almost nonchalantly, “is line with the views of a true Mandalorian.”

* * *

The evening meal in the large dining hall proved to be uneventful. Her only companions were Saxon, two of the military officers, and the two Jedi. Well . . . at least it _had_ been uneventful until Saxon brought up the war in the middle of pointless pleasantries.

“I hear Bartha’s shell is weakening under another concentrated air assault,” he spewed out while he chewed.

One of the soldiers looked up. “Yes, well . . . these domes aren’t exactly indestructible. One time or another they’re bound to fracture from the bombs and plasma fire.”

Saxon sloshed a bottle of alcohol down his throat. “How is ours faring, by the way?”

“As well as one might expect,” another officer commented. “There are some soft spots in the sixth quarter, a few holes in the fourth—”

“Must this conflict be discussed at all hours of the day?!” Satine snapped, unable to stand it any longer.

Too late, she realized her mistake. Saxon had just pulled her into his little scheme. “Well, Duchess . . . if discussing the safety of your people aggravates you, I suppose we could discuss the climate of our barren deserts.”

“Don’t think I’m blind to your games, Saxon,” she responded evenly.

He feigned shock. “Games, my lady? I’m merely offering a more suitable topic for someone of your background.”

“Spare me,” Satine spat. “You know _nothing_ of my background.”

Master Qui-Gon cleared his throat uncomfortably. He and his Padawan had certainly done good on their assurance that they had no part in this private matter. So far they’d been respectfully silent. But Saxon, of course, wanted to lure them out onto his Dejarik board, as well.

“Master Jedi,” the Prime Minister began. “I’m afraid we’ve been rudely ignoring you and your apprentice. Please, weigh in.”

Satine scoffed. “Really, Saxon, are you so hopelessly desperate that you turn to outsiders to support your views?”

Before he could lash back, another voice interjected. “With respect, highness, it doesn’t take but one outsider to point out certain weaknesses that aren’t seen from within.”

Every head turned to stare at the young Padawan. He gazed back without so much as a twitch of his eye, and Satine found herself struggling once more to grasp the effect of his words.

_Speak, you fool!_

“Well put,” Saxon seized the opportunity before her. “And the neglect to fight for your cause is one of your most _obvious_ weaknesses, Duchess.”

The tension in the air could have shattered the windows. The officers had long since looked down at their plates in silence, wearing conflicted expressions. But Saxon’s eyes were purely malicious.

Satine slammed her utensil against the table. “That is quite enough—from _all_ of you.”

Master Qui-Gon gave his student a scolding look, which brought his eyes to the hands folded in his lap. “Apologies, highness,” he murmured. “I spoke out of turn—”

She stood, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. “You’ll have to excuse me. I need a breath alone.”

When she stormed down the hall and out onto the balcony, Satine was almost certain the entire palace could hear it.

Saxon. That beast. He didn’t have the slightest idea just how much she had struggled—how much she had _lost_ —for her people alone. No one did.

The door behind her hissed open, but Satine didn’t turn. She only gripped her arms and leaned against the railing, the cool air helping to drive down the steaming anger in her veins.

“You lost your head back there,” Padawan Kenobi spoke up, drifting next to her. “But I’m assuming I was only partly to blame.”

Satine shut her eyes, wishing he would leave. She didn’t need any more Jedi lectures from him. “Didn’t you hear what he accused me of?”

“I did.”

“And you wholeheartedly agree, no doubt,” she seethed.

He fell silent for a moment. “Not entirely.”

Satine blew out a huff of air.

“Don’t misunderstand me. Sometimes it requires more strength to know when to lay down your arms than to take them up and charge into battle foolishly.”

She found herself smiling despite her sour attitude earlier. It was almost comical how easily they’d dropped the formalities. “Is that another saying from your Jedi Code?”

“Just my own,” he grinned.

A bit of warmth touched her face, reminding her of how young he was—how young they both were. She herself had been thrust into this responsibility of her own choice, but she had a feeling he hadn’t protested much to the duties handed to him, either.

Satine sighed. The things she found in common with people.

Then, again in that strangely irritating way, his words came back to her. _Sometimes it requires more strength to know when to lay down your arms . . ._

It stirred something inside her, tightening her chest until she knew—just simply _knew_ —that she had to speak to the people of Sundari. No—she had to speak to Mandalore.

“There’s a matter I must see to,” Satine straightened, hurrying through the doors, but at the last second she paused to look back. “Thank you . . . Padawan.”

The expression he wore conveyed pure confusion, but he bowed nonetheless. “Of course, Duchess.”


	3. Inspire to Die

Qui-Gon stood waiting for him outside the doors to their separate rooms, arms crossed. “How did it go?”

“Shockingly well,” Obi-Wan replied. “But short-lived. Important issues to take care of, I think.”

His Master let out a snort. “She didn’t even try to push you over the railing? Doubtful.”

A few passing Protectors laughed when they heard that, drawing a prick of impatience from Obi-Wan. “It was mostly Saxon she was infuriated with,” he rolled his eyes. “I just unknowingly fueled him.”

At the mention of the Prime Minister, Qui-Gon turned serious. “He has an agenda of some kind. The Duchess’s suspicions of him may just be well-founded.”

Obi-Wan nodded. He’d informed his Master of the conversation he’d had with Saxon some hours before. It hadn’t at all pleased him. “There’s also the fact that he’d been the one to send for us. Surely he didn’t think he could sway Jedi—known peacekeepers—to his side?”

Qui-Gon only frowned. “I feel that there’s more to this we don’t know. Be observant, Obi-Wan. Don’t let anything slip past you—or me.”

“I’ll do my best, Master.”

They turned to retire to their rooms, but the sound of pounding footsteps stopped them. _“Master Jedi!”_

Saxon ran into view, a pair of Protectors at his side. Obi-Wan half expected him to announce that the Duchess had been assassinated and then declare them traitors. One could never tell on this bloody planet.

Instead, the Prime Minister snarled, “Duchess Satine wishes to make a public speech out on the platform. I insisted she wait for a proper protection force, but as always, she refused to listen to reason. We must hurry. Guards are already gathering, but your presence is essential.”

Qui-Gon looked at his Padawan, his eyes practically screaming _What did you do?_ Obi-Wan shrugged helplessly.

“Lead the way, Prime Minister,” his Master affirmed, laying a hand on the hilt of his lightsaber.

They rushed through the corridors and up a flight of stairs, bursting onto a wide-open terrace that faced the dark buildings of Sundari. Satine stood on a podium in the middle of still-assembling Protectors, bright lights from the ceiling beaming down on her. Obi-Wan had no doubt that the holo-screens across the capital were displaying her as she was right in this moment, but all he could fathom was how easy a target it made her.

“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon murmured. “Stay by the door. I’ll take position in the front.”

“But Master,” he sputtered. “We should _both_ be defending her from the front. What if they open fire in great—”

“Do as I say, Padawan,” he barked, striding into position.

Obi-Wan felt a burn of resentment from the rebuke. _The Council sent us both for this mission, Master. They wanted us to remain together—work together. But you never heed the Council’s wishes, do you?_

He pushed the thoughts from his mind. Now wasn’t the time to be resentful. Now was the time to be _alert_.

Just then, the words of Duchess Satine Kryze pierced the silence and echoed through the city. “People of Mandalore. I know your fears—your desires—your concerns. For I share many of them, as well. Our world has fallen into another war, bringing danger to our very homes, families, and clans. My counselors insist on planning offensive countermeasures, to enter the fight against those who wish an end to our ideals. But I ask you . . . if peace is what we stand for, are we not renouncing it the moment we retaliate?”

Even Obi-Wan had to admit her speech was mesmerizing. And more appealing was the realization that it hadn’t been rehearsed (given that something really _had_ inspired her from their conversation on the balcony). Indeed, the Duchess may have always been a gifted speaker, but these rousing words came from the very heart of her movement—her faith.

“I am not opposed to violence and combat, though these things must have their own time and place, and should be ordered with care and precision. This is a different matter altogether. Our enemies exalt war and destruction above everything they hold dear. And to give them precisely what they want is to admit defeat—to ourselves more than them. My people, I tell you we must not submit to it! We must walk _away_ from the errors of the past! And while war may be the sign of Mandalore to nearly everyone in the galaxy . . . our strength and persistence _will_ be the sign of New Mandalore for ages to come!”

Her last words came out in a shout of defiance, and what followed was a deafening thunder which Obi-Wan could only recognize as cheers all around the capital.

The city was silent no longer. He felt a smile flicker across his lips. This was Sundari. This was New Mandalore.

And then he sensed it. Two words shrieking relentlessly inside his head like a terrifying alarm: danger . . . and death.

A cry tore from his throat.

On cue, Qui-Gon spun, his arm outstretched, palm upturned. The blast from the Force hurled Satine off her feet. In seconds she slammed into Obi-Wan, sending them toppling through the doors just as the explosion rocked the palace and the terrace ceiling came crashing down.

* * *

Dust and debris spilled into the hall. Satine coughed, pushing the Padawan off her as the horror struck.

Her Protectors and Master Qui-Gon. They’d all been crushed beneath the rubble—because of _her_.

 _“Master!”_ Obi-Wan roared, throwing out his hands and pushing chunks of the ceiling from the opening by sheer will, but hardly making any progress. _“Qui-Gon!”_

Satine watched him, his panic and desperation almost tearing her soul in two.

“Obi-Wan,” she whispered.

“No,” he dropped to his knees. “I was supposed to be by his side—I was supposed to be his aid! The Council sent us both—why can’t he ever _obey_?”

She didn’t have a clue what he was rambling about, but she knelt next to him anyway. “I’m accountable for everyone who was on that terrace. I’m at fault. I-I was careless—trying to be bold—trying to make a statement.”

And people had lost their lives for it. Just what sort of leader _was_ she?

Obi-Wan didn’t seem to hear her. He only shut his eyes and lowered his head. Then a low rumble shocked them both to their feet. Another explosion? No, Satine realized. The remains of the ceiling had begun to _move_. In moments it rose to a height suitable for one of the Protectors to drag an unconscious Kahl Saxon through. Obi-Wan scrambled to help him as Master Qui-Gon limped into view, hand raised to keep the rubble at bay. As soon as he’d staggered clear, the mass dropped back into place, throwing up another cloud of dust.

Coughing, Satine felt pure relief pour through her veins, but stamped it out almost instantly. Three survivors . . . out of how many? There had been at least twenty guards on that terrace, and all but one were dead.

“We must get Saxon to the infirmary,” she finally spoke, voice faltering. “What of you, Master Qui-Gon? Is anything broken?”

He shook his head. “Just a bruised foot is all.”

She found herself blinking back tears at the way he shrugged off his close encounter with the collapsing ceiling. “I’m . . . so sorry.”

The tall man smiled. “Duchess, what matters now is knowing that your people are on your side.”

“My people just _died_ ,” Satine choked out. “I could have spoken somewhere safer! I didn’t have to make such a display, but my stupid pride—”

He laid a firm hand on her shoulder. “Yes, you made a mistake. And now you’ve learned from it. Move on.”

She bit her lip and pulled away. He didn’t understand. How could she expect _anyone_ to understand?

By now, they’d started down the stairwell, Obi-Wan and the Protector hauling Saxon with his arms slung over their shoulders. Satine didn’t like the man, but there was no denying that she’d put him in danger as well as the others. He was still one of her people—and he was still the Prime Minister. Besides, her suspicions of him had gone down a great deal after witnessing his near death.

When they reached the next level another group of guards found them, taking Saxon and leaving behind more men for her protection. Obi-Wan joined his Master as they marched beside her, but she noticed the Padawan didn’t quite meet his eyes.

 _Marvelous._ She was harboring enough guilt already without having to worry about causing a rift between him and his Master. What else was there to—

“Duchess!” One of her advisors came rushing forward, her eyes wide with alarm. “Three dozen ships have broken through the perimeter! They’ve entered the capital!”

Satine ground to a halt, the palace spiraling out of focus around her.

_Oh, no._

The latest attempt on her life had just been another ruse—a way to break her supporters just before the Traditionalists swooped in to take Sundari.

Only this time they planned to succeed.


	4. Escaping Sundari

“Evacuate the palace!” Satine ordered, her voice taking on a frantic edge. “This will be their primary target once they’ve wreaked enough havoc to instill fear in the people!”

The advisor dashed off, accompanied by two more Protectors to spread the word and begin the frenzied process.

“Duchess, we need a ship to take you to safety!” Qui-Gon insisted. “Quickly! Before they realize you survived!”

Satine didn’t respond. Whirling, she bolted for the nearest window as the sounds of explosions and blaster fire started to reverberate through the city. Obi-Wan followed, his Master and the guards close behind.

“No,” she hissed through clenched teeth. “No, no, no!”

Through the glass, Obi-Wan watched the entire capital being lit up in fiery blasts as unseen ships tore through the darkened streets and buildings. With a chill, he estimated they’d be upon the fortress in a manner of minutes.

“Duchess, a _ship_!”

She turned on him, eyes ablaze with near hysteria. “I must send another message! My people need to know I’m alive!”

“If you let them know now, you’ll be letting the _enemy_ know as well!” Obi-Wan exploded.

_“I don’t care!”_

Qui-Gon wedged himself between them and pointed to a tall, thin structure on the far side of the city, illuminated briefly by the chaos. “That comm tower. Will you be able to use it to transmit your message by ship?”

Satine looked torn. “I—yes, but—”

“Then let’s _move_!” Qui-Gon gave them both a firm shove, forcing them to break into a run down the corridor.

After several meters, one of the Protectors turned down a hall to the left. “The emergency hangar is this way!”

Moments after they rushed into the corridor, an ear-splitting screech filled the air and the wall behind exploded from a hail of blaster fire. In a blur of motion Qui-Gon ignited his lightsaber, knocking back the plasma that sped their way, but not before a guard was struck down by his side.

Obi-Wan leapt to join him, his blade drawn and spinning.

_There is no chaos, there is harmony._

“Get the Duchess to safety!” Qui-Gon hollered over the noise.

_“No,”_ he snapped. “We complete this mission _together_ —as Master and Apprentice.”

Qui-Gon sent another thrust of the Force his way, pushing him back. “Padawan, you disobey me?!”

“Just as _you_ disobey the Council?!” He practically screamed as he fought against the energy holding him at bay.

The expression that flashed across his Master’s face was almost fear. “Obi-Wan, now isn’t the time—”

His sentence cut off in a gasp and Obi-Wan watched, stunned, as Qui-Gon crumpled to the ground with a scorching wound in his side.

_No!_

Somersaulting over him, he rushed to defend his fallen form, but the onslaught of bullets had all but stopped.

“Get him onto the ship!” He yelled over his shoulder. _“Now!”_

A pair of Protectors hoisted his Master up as Obi-Wan ran to grab an astounded Satine by the arm, sprinting in the direction of the hangar.

_You just killed your Master,_ his mind hissed.

Had he really?

_No!_ He _chose to fight alone! And he will not die!_

They barged through the door into the large bay as the palace began to shake and groan from the shattering impact of bombs raining down from above. Without stopping, Obi-Wan darted up the ramp of the nearest vessel, Satine and the Protectors barreling after him.

“The bay doors!” he shouted. “Someone needs to open them!”

As one, the guards turned and ran to the console outside, leaving Qui-Gon lying at their feet.

“Wait!” Satine called after them. “You’re not going to—”

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan threw himself into the pilot’s chair. “I wish we didn’t have to.”

She gave him a look of horror. _“What?!”_

Gritting his teeth, he powered on the engines and lifted the craft into the air. “Satine—do you want to _live_ for your people or _die_ for your enemies?!”

“It doesn’t have to _be_ this way!”

The bay doors started to inch back as Obi-Wan guided their ship forward, ignoring the broken shards of ceiling crashing into the hull.

“We need to go back for them!” She reached out and yanked back on the controls. “They saved your Master’s life!”

_You don’t think I know that?_

Obi-Wan struggled against her, the vessel rocking dangerously. “Satine, let _go_!”

“Turn this ship around!”

_“I can’t!”_ He sent her flying out of the bridge with a shove from the Force, followed by the flip of a switch as the hatch locked her out. Yet still she pounded against the metal, screaming for him to go back. Her words cut deeper than she realized. But the mission—his _orders_ —had to come first. They would always come first.

Fists tightening on the steering console, Obi-Wan wrenched the craft onto its side, spinning through the gap in the doors and out into the havoc-filled streets of the capital. As expected, he became a target almost instantly, working to weave through buildings while performing drastic dives and climbs that evaded the full force of the blaster fire.

_Shields at eighty-eight percent._

He swooped down through a wide open square and with a shock realized it was the same park he’d been looking out over just hours ago. And then the bomb exploded beneath him, hurling the ship high into the air and almost smashing it into another glass structure. But once he regained control, they had already taken a beating from being tossed out into plain view.

Obi-Wan clenched his teeth.

_Fifty-two percent._

He powered the engines to full throttle, tearing past the incoming vessels and spiraling toward the outer port as plasma pummeled the shields.

_Twenty-five percent._

A ship rose through the chaos—directly in front of the opening to the outer port—cutting off their escape.

He shut his eyes, letting go of everything and letting the Force take control.

The guns of his vessel erupted at maximum and ripped into the enemy craft, reducing it to rubble as he plowed through the wreckage to freedom.

And then the worst had ended. Obi-Wan nearly collapsed in his chair, panting from the effort—but suddenly remembered the Duchess and hurried to open the hatch. In an instant she threw herself at him, pounding her fists against his arms.

_“Monster!”_

He ignored the sting and held her back. “Satine, there isn’t time. You need to send your message before we’re out of range!”

She turned away from him, staggering toward the communications console almost in defeat.

For the second time that night the Duchess spoke to her people. Only now it sounded hoarse, tired, and much less defiant. “Don’t give in, Mandalorians. Our greatest trial has just begun.”

The transmission went dead.

Obi-Wan prepared the navicomputer for a quick jump as the scanners blared a warning that more ships had exited the dome on their tail.

He spared a glance behind him—at Satine who refused to look at him—at his Master lying injured and unconscious on the floor. Already, this mission seemed to have failed before it could ever have hoped to succeed.

They leaped into hyperspace.


	5. Tensions on the Run

Satine slipped out of the sleeping chamber and put down the tray of medical supplies. Master Qui-Gon’s wound hadn’t been fatal, but it was healing slowly. In fact, it seemed everything was moving at a sluggish pace these past few days with the three of them hardly speaking to each other.

She walked down the tiny corridor to the cockpit, where she could see the surface of Aerdo through the glass. Their ship had been orbiting the planet for some time now, supposedly waiting for a plan to to form in someone’s mind—or perhaps for their food stocks to run out. Either way, they’d have to move on soon.

Obi-Wan looked up when she entered, but then swiveled around in his chair, as if pretending to be busy.

Satine folded her arms. “Your teacher wishes to have a word with you.”

He didn’t respond, compelling her to move closer, anger rising.

“Didn’t you hear me, Padawan?!”

His shoulders tensed. “I’m not one of your loyal subjects, _highness_.”

“And _I_ ,” she snapped, “am not your mother. You could at least gratify me a response instead of sitting there like a slab of rock.”

“Yes, _mother_.”

Throwing up her hands, Satine stormed out of the cockpit. She didn’t have to take part in this immaturity. If he refused to talk to that blasted Master of his it was no concern of hers. She’d never even wanted Jedi escorts. She’d never wanted any of this. That is . . . until it’d become personal.

The pain came like a stab to her chest—and Satine shut herself in the storage closet to be alone with her guilt.

* * *

“We set down not more than ten minutes ago,” Obi-Wan protested.

He managed to catch her as she was descending the ramp to the rocky ground, a bag slung over her shoulder.

“Why Obi,” she mocked, her hair blowing wildly across her face. “You’re beginning to sound like one of my worrisome ‘loyal subjects’.”

He scowled. “Your protection is my mission—and don’t call me that.”

Satine merely shook her head. “I’m going to scout for something edible in these woods. I can’t stand those dried packets of nutrients.”

She started off before he could say anything more, leaving him to stare over the side of the cliff they’d landed next to, cursing her.

The Duchess thought she could simply walk away without _any_ consideration of the dangers unknown? He’d finally worked up the courage to approach Qui-Gon—only to have it delayed again.

_Oh, why in the name of the Council . . ._

Obi-Wan rushed back inside to grab a satchel of his own, then headed into the forest after her.

“Highness!” He called. “Satine!”

The louder he shouted, the louder the silence seemed to grow. This couldn’t be right. She hadn’t left but several minutes ago. . . .

The trees gave way to more trees, and grass to more grass, but the Duchess was still nowhere in sight. Dread seeped into the pit of his stomach and he quickened his pace.

* * *

She’d found the obscure path almost immediately, lined with bushes that held star-shaped fruit. And they smelled wonderful—almost familiar.

Smiling, Satine glided through it all as if it were a dream or a fantasy, reaching out for one of the bigger, stronger scented ones.

The Padawan’s voice rose up somewhere behind her, but she ignored it. Satine had gone out to get _away_ from him and his infuriating—

She inhaled sharply as the memory hit her full force. Her mother’s smile. Then she and her sister, laughing as they ran through a field picking ripe berries from the plants.

The fruit she’d plucked slipped from her hand and she felt herself falling . . . flat onto her back.

Satine didn’t know how much time had passed when she was suddenly aware of someone crouching over her, and clear blue eyes staring into her own.

The roar in her ears gave way to that soothing sound. “Satine?”

She gasped, blinking the tears from her vision as Obi-Wan helped her into a sitting position.

“Was it the fruit?” He demanded. “Have you been poisoned?”

“No, I—” her voice broke.

_Say it!_

For a strange moment, she just wanted to cling to something and tell him everything. As if it could somehow make the pain leave her for good. But then she remembered who he was—what he’d done—and pulled away.

“I just need time,” she managed to blurt out before dashing back to the ship, her memories trailing not far behind.

* * *

Obi-Wan had sensed it again, but stronger this time. Her unbalance—her turmoil—it was threatening to overwhelm her. And he had a feeling it hadn’t had much to do with eating fruit.

He watched the Duchess from his place in the cockpit, his meditation failing him the way it’d been ever since their escape. She was sitting high in a tree, her back against the thick trunk with one leg dangling over the side, probably deep in thought. Or at least it seemed so by how she stared out at the purple ocean without really seeing it.

Obi-Wan’s first instinct, of course, was to avoid the unbalance—to avoid her. But Satine was already doing a fine job of avoiding _him_. He supposed she found fault with his carrying out of his duties. Yes, he’d left the Protectors behind, but only because there would have been too much risk for the Duchess if they’d gone back. It was just that plain—to him in any case.

Tearing his eyes from the glass, Obi-Wan left the cockpit and went down the hall to the recreation chamber, where Satine had been staying. He placed his bag on her table, then turned to the door to Master Qui-Gon’s sleeping quarters, chest tightening.

_You have to do it._

How long had he been putting it off? Close to a week now, most likely. Taking a breath, he hit the switch and stepped inside.

His Master lay on the only cot in the small space, a bandage wrapped over his side. He didn’t look angry, but he wasn’t particularly pleased, either.

“So you’ve decided to heed my feeble requests,” Qui-Gon inclined his head.

Obi-Wan couldn’t think of a suitable reply and said nothing.

Sighing, he went on. “It seems there’s a wall going up between us. And we need to have a discussion before it rises any higher. Listen my student, what happened during our last mission called for a split-second—”

“I don’t want to talk about that,” Obi-Wan gritted his teeth.

“The Council doesn’t get personally involved so they can’t possibly—”

“Jedi aren’t supposed to become personally involved with _anything_!” He exploded, bolting from the room.

“Obi-Wan!”

_There is no ignorance, there is knowledge._

* * *

Satine stared, eyebrows raised, as the Padawan lifted a rock with a twist of his wrist and angrily sent it flying out to sea. That was new.

Nimbly, she slid down the tree and approached him from behind. “I have to say, that’s the most emotion I’ve ever seen out of you.”

Obi-Wan blew a frustrated exhale through his nostrils. “Go away.”

Not surprising, she could tell he wasn’t in the mood, and decided to give him space to breathe as he’d done so with her.

“All right, all right.”

Satine left him by the cliff, climbing the ramp back inside. And the first thing that caught her eye was the satchel sitting on the table, filled to the brim with the star-shaped fruit from earlier.

_What . . . ?_

She found herself curling her fingers around one of them, lips twitching. Did he really go through the trouble of—

A series of beeps from the cockpit startled her. _The comm!_ Satine recognized the sound instantly and rushed to answer the coming call.

“Is this the escaped palace vessel?” A voice crackled in Mando’a.

Realizing she shouldn’t give anything away to an unknown messenger, Satine responded with “I’m afraid you’re mistaken,” knowing one of her own would identify her voice.

Thankfully, the man did and continued. “Sundari has fallen, the palace has been destroyed, and Prime Minister Saxon and his men have escaped. But he’s mustering forces from all the supporting cities . . . in preparation for war.”

Her heart plummeted with every word, ripping any form of hope she might’ve had out of her chest.

_War._

The very thing she’d been trying to delay since her rise to power. Now it was only days away—and completely inevitable. Satine imagined Saxon would be very successful in raising an army with all his military ties. And he’d be leading them straight to their destruction with that dangerously charismatic persona of his.

She ran her hands through the tangled strands of her hair. But here she was, star systems away in some unknown corner of the Mandalore sector—powerless, alone, and without contacts.

_Contacts!_

Satine turned back to the comm. “Are you still there?”

“Yes—standing by.”

“I don’t know if you can provide me with anything . . . but is there someone I can see or just someplace I can go where I can be of any use?” She inquired.

Apparently, there were many of both. Snatching up a datapad, she busied herself in recording every single one.

* * *

The walk by the cliffside helped to relieve some of his frustration—though not all of it. Obi-Wan still wished his meditation would return somehow, even when he knew what was causing its disruption.

He sighed. What was he going to do about his Master? What _could_ he do? Trying to reconcile with him had obviously failed. It seemed that they were completely at odds with each other on this matter—and it was no small matter, either.

Obi-Wan stopped, staring down at the violet waves turning pink in the sunset.

Perhaps they were never _meant_ to be Master and Apprentice.

The thought had occurred to him before, but he’d always brushed it off immediately, refusing to acknowledge it. Only now he—

“Padawan!”

Whirling, he found the Duchess running toward him from the direction of the ship, her hair whipping about in that irritatingly distracting way.

Obi-Wan shook himself. “What is it, highness?”

“I’ve determined the best location for us to refuel and restock,” she informed breathlessly. “We should leave at once.”

Where had this come from?

“Wait a moment,” he frowned. “How did you—”

A slight _ping_ sounded beside them—and he saw the detonator seconds too late.

_No . . ._

The explosion hurled them over the edge of the cliff, sending them tumbling to the ocean below.

_You should have sensed that! You should have—stop that now._

Obi-Wan hooked his arm around Satine’s waist and reached out to slow their fall.

_There is no death, there is the Force._

But the impact still tore them apart.

_Pain—cold—darkness._

Kicking, he surfaced and swiped water out of his face. “Duchess!”

Silence—except for the crashing of the waves.

_“Satine!”_

She came up gasping to his right, flooding him with sudden relief.

“The ship!” Satine pushed her soaking hair from her eyes. “They’ll head there next!”

“I know!”

“Well, _do_ something!”

With a nod, Obi-Wan swam for the rocks and she went after him, both of them fighting against the powerful current.

“All right,” he clambered up a rough slab, turning to help the Duchess out of the water. “I’ll jump.”

“Jump?!” She gaped at the cliff face looming before them, then back at him. “You _have_ that capability?”

Obi-Wan adjusted his wet robes. “Well . . . it’ll take at least two of them. Get on my back.”

Without further argument or delay, Satine climbed on, digging her fingers into his chest.

“You don’t need to grip so tight,” he nearly choked.

She snorted. “As if I trust you not to drop me, Obi.”

“Will you _stop_ calling me—” he shifted his weight and grunted. “Never mind. Just don’t scream.”

“ _Excuse_ me? Why—” her words morphed into a piercing shriek as they catapulted through the air and onto the jagged rocks above.

His hands nearly slipped when he fumbled desperately for a ledge to grab, drawing another cry from Satine.

“I told you not to scream!” Obi-Wan yelled, tensing against the cliffside.

“I swear I’ll tear your throat out, Padawan,” she snapped. “Do you think I’m some kind of—”

He leaped again, this time scaling the top and sprawling onto solid ground. Satine toppled off him into a patch of grass, clamping her mouth shut.

“You enjoyed that,” she sputtered, rolling over.

His lips tugged at the corners as he pulled her up in an exaggerative sweep. “I would _never_ , my lady.”

Satine gave him a shove. “Forget this and come on! They’ve probably destroyed our ship by now!”

“Right,” he blurted.

Together, they broke into a sprint.

* * *

There were at least two. Peering at them through the trees, Satine watched as one of the bounty hunters crept into the craft while the other stood guard at the ramp.

_Master Qui-Gon . . . he won’t even know what’s coming._

Obi-Wan touched her arm. “Stay back.”

“But—”

He charged into the clearing, knocking the armored man off his feet with a thrust of the Force. Cursing, the bounty hunter raised his blasters and opened fire.

Satine saw it as Obi-Wan ignited his blade to redirect the bolts—a clear path to the ship.

_Go!_

She closed the short distance and made it inside, the Padawan spewing out a protest from behind. There wasn’t time for waiting. If the other man was tampering with their vessel she had to stop it. The risks were too—

A click sounded and she found herself staring down the barrel of a blaster.

“Where’s the other one?” His voice was muffled by his helmet.

Satine swallowed. “Behind you.”

If the man’s target was anything besides a Jedi, she was certain that wouldn’t have worked—but it did. As he twisted to look, she lunged for the bag of fruit on the table, grabbing it and swatting his weapon aside with a wild, swinging arc. It clattered to the floor and Satine ran for the cockpit.

“Master Qui-Gon!” She shouted in warning.

A red laser flashed past her shoulder when she dove to the side—much closer than she would have liked.

_The door!_

Satine needed to seal it shut before—she gasped. The bounty hunter stepped through, his blaster leveling at her forehead. But it never fired. She recoiled from the green tip of a lightsaber protruding from his chest, then watched as he collapsed to reveal Qui-Gon leaning against the wall, hand at his bandaged side.

“Get this ship in the air,” he panted.

Recovering from her shock, she scrambled for the controls—just as more footsteps came pounding up the hall. She whirled around.

“Master!” Obi-Wan spouted. “I thought—”

“Take care of this body, Padawan,” Qui-Gon ordered. “The other bounty hunter?”

Satine frowned. How had he known there were two? Another Force ability of theirs?

“Out of commission,” Obi-Wan muttered, doing as he was told.

And soon, with some uncomfortable business out of the way, they were rising through Aerdo’s atmosphere, the hyperspace coordinates of their next destination already inputted.

Carefully, Satine slipped her datapad out of view. Now wasn’t the best time for them to know this wasn’t just a convenient stopping point. She felt grateful for all they’d done so far, but this civil war was a separate matter entirely—one she was determined to keep the Jedi out of—no matter who they were . . . and how much she’d begun to take a liking to them.


End file.
